"Good morning, Father," I greet, my demeanor instantly humbled.
I can see a sheepish face behind my father, that of my annoying two-faced attendant whom Emma recently reported is back in the empress' pocket.
His hands are clasped behind his back. But the emperor's face, usually stony and carved from ice, looks a touch warmer.
"Get dressed. There is somewhere for us to go." He is not a man of many words when it comes to me and soon sweeps out to one of the outer rooms of my western apartments. I often forget that we actually live quite close to one another, literally within the same building, until moments like these.
